


why we don't drink

by fated_addiction



Category: K-pop, Real Person Fiction, Red Velvet (K-pop Band)
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/F, I Don't Even Know, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25392949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fated_addiction/pseuds/fated_addiction
Summary: The dull throbbing in her temples reminds her not to get up, just yet, to do something stupid and look into the scenery outside. There's greens and blues and mountaintops a la the Sound of Music, she remembers. Or that’s just the memory of the wine and their group sponsorship coming back to haunt her.Wendy brings work home.(Or, what happened in Switzerland didn'tstayin Switzerland.)
Relationships: Bae Joohyun | Irene/Son Seungwan | Wendy
Comments: 7
Kudos: 110





	why we don't drink

**Author's Note:**

> For @534red-summer and your super thoughtful request.
> 
> I tried to write fluff. I _swear_. I guess this is my version of fluff or it's fluffy-ish? So... yeah. I hope you enjoy!

-

how it ends:

“we _really_ shouldn’t have opened that bottle of wine,” wendy mutters, and it’s the morning after. 

she lies on her side on the bed. the sheets loop around her knees. that's a personal preference; she gets hot at night. especially in hotel rooms. it's kind of wild how an odd habit never really has to make sense.

the light from the windows is starting to peek in through the curtains. the dull throbbing in her temples reminds her not to get up, just yet, to do something stupid and look into the scenery outside. there's greens and blues and mountaintops a la the sound of music, she remembers. or that’s just the memory of the wine and their group sponsorship coming back to haunt her.

“i'll probably break out. it was red wine too.” next to her, irene is on her stomach. her eyes remain shut. “my head is pounding so i'm not dead.”

something about this should be funny. wendy grunts and tries to push herself up. she manages to sort of sit, her legs dangling to the side. goosebumps start to crawl against her skin. _oh_ , she thinks. _oh_.

“i'm naked.”

“hm?”

“naked,” wendy repeats. it feels a little like mild panic. across the room, she sees herself in the closet door mirrors. the sheets have dropped and those are definitely her breasts. her gaze drops. there are t-shirts knotted into the sheets. on the side, she spies her underwear in a heap. her mind can barely grasp an excuse.

“i'm definitely naked.” wendy watches herself in the mirror. her hand rises and she touches her neck. under the ends of her hair, she swear she might see a hickey.

“oh.” 

irene isn’t exactly the queen of reactions. wendy feels her heart start to pound in her throat as the other girl sits up too. the sheets sort of just _drop_ and her brain is too hung over to really process the fact that every single fantasy has just physically manifested right next to her. and she for sure doesn’t know what to do.

wendy’s ears are ringing. irene's non-reaction is making her head spin a little too as she watches her stare at them in the mirror and then turn her head to look at her too. what’s the point of modesty – she feels irene steal a gaze, almost lazily, over her body and it is definitely going to make her lose it.

“i just kissed you though,” irene says. almost thoughtfully. she reaches into the sheets. pulls out a t-shirt and shoves it into wendy’s hands. “i think,” she says slowly. “did we really drink the whole bottle?”

“how are you so calm?”

“we’ve seen each other like this before. and we didn’t go _that_ far the last time.”

“that was a long time ago,” wendy says dryly. “and if i remember correctly, you were the one that said it would never happen again because you don’t do messy and i don’t do messy so it’s just easier to be friends. you also had the hugest crush on seulgi, so there was that too.”

irene has the audacity to blush. it seems really stupid to blame a place, largely because it’s just easier to blame a physical manifestation than make it a personal problem. wendy feels her head spinning too: does she remember kissing irene? no, not right now. but she also hasn’t forgotten the last couple times. they had a fight. they once went a noraebang without the others because wendy was sad and irene always ends up saying things like: “i can’t stand seeing you this way –” and she means it, really means it, which makes it harder and romantic at the same time.

“there was that,” irene agrees finally. pulls a shirt on too.

they do get dressed. or halfway dressed. they stand in their shared bathroom, a mess of tangled hair and t-shirts, panties and long legs. irene brushes her teeth. wendy drags her brush through her hair. yeri texts one of them to say _breakfast in an hour_ so they do have time to get it together.

“i'm going to call down for more water,” wendy says. maybe advil too, she thinks. because this probably going to be another long day filming.

“sounds good,” irene agrees.

the bathroom door shuts. there is the sound of the shower turning on and wendy feels her shoulders finally slump.

they will try not to talk about switzerland alone. or talking about whatever this was supposed to be this time around

they've always been better at this part.

“i think i have a problem letting things go.”

another bottle, another moment. irene has been home barely a minute and she’s shoved into wendy’s room by joy, who only says something about jennie and dinner and, of course, _see you!_ because responsibility is never a thing.

“i'm tired,” wendy mutters. she’s in bed and irene crawls in with her, digging herself underneath her sheets. she slides her legs into between hers. “you do have your own bed too, you know.”

irene hums. “yours is nice.”

“how much did you drink?”

“you’re not listening to me.”

and honestly, this isn’t something she’s going to win. drunk irene is persistent. unless you’re drunk too, the arguments are heavy and circular and just accept that you’re not going to beat her at whatever game she thinks you’re playing with her. wendy sighs loudly, almost dramatically. shifts onto her side to watch her. she’s almost amused that irene is still in her jacket and shorts.

“i'm listening,” she says too.

“good.” irene smiles, satisfied. 

wendy waits. then softens. irene's face just explodes into a million different vulnerabilities. it happens too fast to process: she’s sad, she’s excited. she reaches forward and presses her fingers against wendy’s mouth. the pads of her fingertips are soft and heat immediately shoots into wendy’s belly.

“i'm not going to confess,” she says. irene means it too. “if this were a moment to confess, i think i'd be better. i do want to be better.”

“there’s nothing wrong with you?”

“i'm drunk and it’s my turn to talk. you promised.”

wendy almost laughs. “okay.”

“look,” she says. “i know i'm not the easiest. i also know that you are the only one who ever gets the brunt of my deepest, darkest, erm, _issues_ and that’s totally unfair. i think i was always selfish enough to know how you felt and now that i'm feeling things it’s really scary and i want to tell you that it’s really scary and that i can’t keep up, even though i really just want to hold your hand and follow. i think you deserve a confession and i don’t know how to give you just that.”

irene exhales. as if to punctuate everything she’s just said to wendy, right in her bed. right close and right in her face.

it's weird because there should be some kind of instinct that rises to the surface. should she kiss her? should she says sure, okay great! because that also seems like something she couldn’t even do with a straight face.

but the feelings are there, they have always been there. they jerk around her stomach and in knots. she tries and looks at irene, watches as her eyes flutter shut and whatever she says, she can’t handle her alcohol. it’s then that she thinks of switzerland, then back to their original dorm, where all this mess started and irene said something like, “i don’t think you’re pretty, i think you’re beautiful –” and wendy knew it was more than something she needed to hear at that time.

“did we have sex in switzerland?”

irene chokes and her eyes fly open. wendy shrugs.

“wow, okay.” irene rolls onto her back. her arms skews over her eyes. “no,” she says, after awhile. “we tried to and then laughed because nothing about it was sexy and i'm pretty sure i kept stubbing my toe and you just dragged me to bed with you anyway.”

“i guess i'm relieved?” 

“i hate you.”

“no, no you don’t,” wendy says and irene laughs, startled, startling wendy too into a half-laugh and smile. her shoulders feel a little less heavier than they’ve been in awhile and her body finally sinks back into her bed. 

wendy remains on her side. her knees tuck against irene’s leg. i don’t hate you, she thinks again. it's the truth though. and they’ll sleep this way. 

it's why they always circle back to the beginning.

the real photos from switzerland have yet to be developed.

“i’m just lazy,” she tells irene.

the other girl takes the camera from her. she is sitting at wendy’s desk and wendy is standing, palming the strap as irene studies the camera.

“you’re not,” irene mutters.

wendy shrugs. “okay, well, i haven’t exactly had the easiest couple of months. photo development hits super low on the list, you know?”

irene looks up. “sorry.”

she bites her lip. here they are again, she thinks. it seems a little unfair. the confession was, in fact, months ago. but wendy has had a lot of time and it pops back up rather unfairly, mostly when she’s alone and trying to sort through everything. that part has been selfish and the worst.

“i’m not made of glass,” she says. irene looks away and wendy steps between her legs. it kind of just happens and she pulls the camera away too. “you know how much i hate when you guys get like this with me. i'm not going anywhere and i promise to tell you when i’m ready.”

“it’s not that,” irene insists. “it’s just – i don’t know. nevermind.”

it's a response that should piss her off. in fact, it does and all the arguments rise to wendy’s head. she's had a lot of time, she wants to say. don’t be a jerk and just _look at me_. i won’t break. don't go.

but none of that works on irene. she's stubborn. and wendy suddenly hates that she really knows that, the best out of all of them. it makes her way too impulsive: her hands swing to frame irene’s face, her fingers grasping her by the jaw. irene's eyes widen with surprise.

so this happens: wendy goes from thinking about how long her lashes are to how full her mouth looks and how stupid that seems in mere seconds. to stop it, she dips forward and slants her mouth over irene’s, kissing her almost furiously, only because she’s mad and frustrated and for once, she wants to go beyond the circular conversations and move forward together, not apart.

somewhere in between, she realizes she’s also kissing irene.

remember, she tells herself, this is not a first kiss. her mouth is hot and wet and she slows down, sliding her tongue over irene’s lip and into her mouth. irene makes a sound and it’s a very dangerous sound, the kind that shoots forward all those fantasies that she will never admit to having. because then irene’s hands go from the chair to wendy’s thighs and they both sort of hold each other together, kissing deeply because it’s the only thing to do.

what she wants is something real. romance is only a small part of that. it’s what makes this all too terrifying.

wendy breathes. and the kiss dissolves into something softer, slower, slow _enough_ that wendy goes from standing to straddling irene’s lap, to irene’s fingers in her hair.

“okay,” irene says. her forehead presses into hers. she’s breathing heavily. “okay,” she says again. “i get it.”

“good,” wendy says too. breathes and drops her head against irene’s shoulder. she might laugh and her head is only spinning a little bit.

they move together, after all.


End file.
